The Worth And Value Of Knowledge Is

The Man Hath Penance Done, And Penance More Will Do.

It Is A Gentle And Affectionate Thought, That In Immeasurable Height Above Us, At Our First Birth, The Wreath Of Love Was Woven With Sparkling Stars For Flowers.

He Knows Well The Evening Star, And Once When He Awoke, In A Most Distressful Mood (some Inward Pain Had Made Up That Strange Thing, An Infant's Dream), I Hurried With Him To Our Orchard Plot, And He Beheld The Moon, And Hushed At Once. Suspends His Sobs And Laughs Most Silently. While His Fair Eyes, That Swam With Undropped Tears, Did Glitter In The Yellow Moonbeam.

The Form Is Mechanic When On Any Given Material We Impress A Predetermined Form. The Organic Form, On The Other Hand, Is Innate, It Shapes As It Develops Itself From Within.

...in Consequence Of The Film Of Familiarity And Selfish Solicitude, We Have Eyes Yet See Not, Ears That Hear Not, And Hearts That Neither Feel Nor Understand.